The Man Beneath the Beard
by EAD13
Summary: Post Inquisition, Pre Trespasser; Thom Rainier is out finding his former soldiers now that the Inquisition has defeated Corypheus, leaving Cadash behind. But hearing of a huge celebration back at Skyhold, it might be time to make an appearance. Just, not looking like the man everyone would recognize. It's time to lose the beard... A continuation of Never Look Back.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Bioware and EA own the characters and setting. Plot's all mine.

 **Author's Note:** This is just unapologetic fluff that all started when I saw an image of Blackwall without his beard (the magic of mods or something). It just made me wonder what fun he could have walking around without anyone recognizing him. And what would it take for the Inquisitor to recognize him? And then things just started to escalate in my mind... This part isn't the most imaginative piece of narration, but a necessary evil for setting the scene as well as the wheels in motion. Also let's you know what's been happening since he left Skyhold.

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He sat at the bar in a crowded, dimly-lit Kirkwall tavern, one of many just like it in the large port city, and simply listened to the hubbub surrounding him. The other patrons, much more inebriated than he, spoke much more freely as a result, something he had learned a long time ago when it was necessary to keep his ear to the ground to avoid trouble. The news was especially good in places where the sailors gathered, spreading gossip from the far corners of Thedas. Tonight was no exception, and the tidbit he was tuned in on made his heart ache even with the dulling influence of the ale in his mug.

"Ah, so the Inquisition's going to have a big to-do after stopping the source of those damned rifts, eh?"

"Aye. They say it was someone who got too close to the red lyrium. Nasty stuff. Heard it did a number to old Bartrand, drove him right mad it did." Bartrand. The name was so familiar. Wasn't that…Varric's elder brother? The dwarf had told him once, explaining his vendetta against the red lyrium. That's right, Varric's family was from Kirkwall…

"Couldn't be that simple; a nutter who got too close to the damned stuff and went mad?"

"No one knows the right of it, lest of all the common folk like you or me. Whatever it was, they needed a whole army. Soldiers, craftsmen, healers, even cooks. An old friend of the wife's signed on with 'em, sayin' she'd helpin' any way she was needed. Shite, they must have a huge number livin' in their fortress."

"Can ye just imagine the kind of party they'd be throwing? They say their guests are coming from all the different countries. That lovely diplomat they got workin' for 'em can charm even Tevinters, you know."

"Hmph, sounds like your wife's friend will be lucky to be scrubbing floors while the lot of them are out dancing the Remigold."

He could not pry his attention away despite the melancholy the conversation brought him. Normally, he would scoff at the idea of a gathering of pretentious nobles and mutter a few choice words about them. This was different though; they were coming to Skyhold, the closest place to home he'd had since leaving Markham as a teen. All the friends he had in the world were there. So was the love of his life, and she'd be at the center of it all. The thought of her being forced to dance the Remigold made him chuckle as he took another swig. How little they knew her. Being at the center would make her absolutely miserable…probably even irritable.

But damn it, how long had it been since he'd seen her? It felt like a year, but in truth he knew it had only been a month and a half. She couldn't write him, never knowing where he was or where he was going, and he wondered every day as he continued on his journey what she would be up to now that the great evil had been defeated. But he did make it a point to write her. He told her of the places he went, but more importantly he described the people he met.

Rather, it was the people he met again after so many years, hunting them down to ask for forgiveness. This was his mission, and he could not settle down with her until it was complete. He'd set out with a list of names and addresses collected by the fine connections the Inquisition wielded, and so far had been to Highever and currently Kirkwall visiting ex-soldiers who had been under his command. It hadn't been quite as difficult as the first confrontation back in Halamshiral, but he still had enough bruises to show for his efforts. She was not there to encourage him, but the thought of her was enough to push him forward despite the complete terror he felt every single time he was about to knock on a door. In the end, there were two soldiers, aged prematurely to be certain, that no longer intended to murder him on sight. Forgiveness might be a stretch, but that was at least something. Time and dedicated efforts to helping those he'd cheated out of a living, those were all that could heal the wounds he'd left on those people.

He'd known it would be difficult to do simply for what it was, but it was doubly difficult to accomplish it all while leaving her behind with the Inquisition. It was a shock the first week or so without her warming his bed, and the good sleep he'd finally been getting evaporated. After so many years of living in solitude, he thought he'd revert back to his old ways quickly, but was proved wrong as every night his thoughts turned to her while he stared at the ceiling of the tent or room. How amazing it would be to just pick up and return, just for a day, just to remind her how much he loved her in ways the words on the pages didn't do justice…

He roughly set his mug down. What was exactly keeping him from doing just that? He'd accomplished amends with two people since he'd left, so he could easily say he was back for a break…

And he'd been there, personally swung a sword at that bloody Corypheus besides being along on nearly every mission for a year, so shouldn't he be at the party? He snorted at the strange feeling of WANTING to be at a fancy engagement where he could no longer fit in.

Another snippet caught his ear, and this served to put him in his place. "Can you imagine the kind of security they'd need at such an event, what with all those other countries bein' there?"

"I imagine the Inquisition has plenty of security around. Best network of spies to boot. How would anyone get something past them?"

"You know that one louse did. Total criminal, he was, but got all the way into their inner circle. They'd still never know if he hadn't o' turned himself in."

From his spot at the bar, he sank deeper into his coat and put the mug to his face to hide the red even his beard couldn't completely conceal. Fantastic. Some lay-abouts in a poor Kirkwall tavern knew his story. What a sensational piece of gossip his life made.

"You got a point there, mate," one of the men agreed, completely oblivious to the fact that the focus of their conversation was a mere feet away from him. "Ain't that somethin'? Too bad, he was one of their best sword-arms. They say he up and left not long ago, somethin' about serving his sentence. Not that you could trust a man like that to keep you safe."

It was funny how Malika could stand by him so confidently while everyone else, himself included, condemned him. To others, the situation seemed so cut and dry, no areas of gray to be found. Of course they didn't know him, they didn't know the things in his heart the way she did. Never would, either, and that was the hard part. And this led him to realize one important fact that made his aspirations falter: his scandalous presence would ruin her party, especially if he was anywhere near her. What they did in the company of their closest friends and even loyal soldiers was one thing, but with all the dignitaries of foreign countries around… He wasn't just a land-less no-name warrior latching on to a great leader, but one who had committed unthinkable crimes and fallen from grace. She may have done some sketchy things in her past too, but that was all swept under the rug because of the glowing mark on her hand and her role as the savior of Thedas. No noble or diplomat from Orlais or Antiva would understand that they made the perfect pair, they would only ever see an imbalance in worth. Then they'd talk about her, and it would not be complimentary.

He sighed, staring into the bottom of his mug. That may all be true, but they had spoken of marriage after everything was sorted out. It would be a well known fact to all once they made that move. But that would be after she disappeared from the spotlight… Would he simply have to wait for that time? But what if she never did? His head was starting to hurt, and he was fairly certain it wasn't because he'd overdone it on the alcohol (he hadn't gotten dead drunk once since his truth had been revealed, not the way he used to when he was hiding things). The situation was complicated, but why did it have to be? If he snuck in dressed up, cleaned up, maybe even… A slow smile crept across his face. Maybe even clean-shaven! No one would recognize him except for the people who knew to look. Maybe not even then. He could still visit without drawing attention to himself and fulfill the need he had to see her again.

Standing abruptly, he lay his money on the bar and thanked the bartender, grabbing his pack and rushing quickly out the door. He figured he had a week to get back to Skyhold.


	2. Chapter 1: Reflection on Deed Done

**Disclaimer:** Bioware and EA own the characters and setting.

 **Author's Note:** I feel like this fluff is just going to be short chapters so I can update more frequently. I might combine them later depending on how things go, but the theme for today is how Rainier feels about being beardless again. That is a much more profound thing than it would be for most people, so lots of introspection here.

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He stood before the cracked mirror, attempting awkwardly to take everything off as close to the skin as possible, at least everything that was left after cutting a majority of it from his face to start. Besides the fact that the light of the single candle provided in his cabin barely did its job, or even that the ship he had boarded to cross the Waking Sea occasionally jostled from the waves, he hadn't attempted this in over a decade. Trim his beard, sure, not long after his trial. But take it all off? Not since he was Captain Thom Rainier of the Orlesian army. That made the whole experience bittersweet, especially as he was watching intently in the mirror. He was going to be looking like THAT man again. But he couldn't think about that now, he had to focus on the task at hand… If he slipped and cut himself, wouldn't that just draw attention to his face? And when he saw her at last, she'd ask what dangerous fight he'd been in to get that injury; to only have a lame response like a shaving accident…

He paused, steadying himself and cleaning the shaving cream from his blade. The blade was certainly sharp, brand new, in fact. A gift from Varric before he left Skyhold so he'd look presentable when meeting those ex-soldiers, and it seemed fitting considering Varric had been the one to hunt one down for him when he needed a trim after his trial, being a sturdy (albeit short) shoulder to lean on in those difficult times. He himself hadn't actually owned a razor since he fled Orlais. Besides being unessential when he was hastily grabbing things to take on the lam, he'd wanted to grow a beard at the time. He'd never sported one before that, and it would throw pursuers off. Even he could admit it turned out a bit ratty by the time he was finally caught, though Malika never seemed to care.

As he wiped off the finished portion of his face, he smiled into the towel. He could remember that time he'd made a flippant comment about how his beard must not bother her after they shared a kiss in the stables. She'd laughed and informed him she liked it. That it must be a dwarf thing to prefer hairy men. Come to think of that, hopefully she wouldn't be too upset that he shaved it off! If she refused to kiss him because of that, he'd about die from being denied.

With a chuckle, he resumed his work on the other side. "Who knew you could forget how to do this after going so long without…" he muttered under his breath.

After a while, it was finally finished. He set the razor down and toweled himself off, removing the final traces of shaving cream. When he finished, he studied the end result in a mirror. It was mind-boggling, like a completely different person was staring back at him. It shouldn't have been a surprise, considering that was the reaction he was hoping for from other people, but that it still knocked him off balance… Once that shock wore off, he began to realize how much it felt like stepping back in time. That WAS him, but the him of twenty years ago, though with more weathered skin and extra wrinkles around the eyes. Yes, his outward appearance looked a good ten years younger, even if his body ached from the strain he'd put on it all those years. He idly wondered what she'd think of that; taking ten years off his looks would put him at about her age after all.

The thoughts were spinning, but the strongest feeling wasn't the surprise or the amazement: it was the knot forming in his stomach, put there by being reminded of a past he wanted nothing to do with. Back when he looked like that, he'd been a completely self-centered ass besides being a coward. These days he'd probably punch someone like the man he was in the face to teach him some manners. And looking like that again, if he was honest with himself, it scared him. He knew of course just changing his appearance wouldn't take away all the hard lessons he'd learned in the time that passed, but was it like taking a step back? Would Malika call it finding Thom Rainier inside all the Blackwall, or was he just being over dramatic about a superficial change? It was just that…the beard seemed to represent more than just hiding. Beards were for people who didn't worry about appearances. People who had better things to do than waste the time preening over themselves, who were hardy and strong. He felt like none of those things standing there and it was unsettling. In fact, he finally decided, he felt plain naked. Perhaps this hadn't been as good of an idea as he thought… He felt a bit of the old anxiety flare up and wished more than anything that she was there to calm him down like she was so good at. Malika may have come across as a bit harsh to people who didn't know her, but she always knew just what to say to the people she cared for.

He probably would have spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and fighting with his old friend anxiety when he noticed something. His eyes. They were more prominent now that there was less hair, but they hadn't changed. No, they did change. They didn't change from before when he had the beard, but they had changed since the last time he was beardless. Twenty years ago, those blue-gray depths would twinkle with mischief, especially when eying up a pretty woman ripe for seduction or an opportunity to advance through the ranks. Now, they were tired, sober. But it wasn't bad. They were the eyes of someone older and wiser, with better judgement and more empathy. They showed the effects of his struggles just as much as the scars on his body, and they proved he was not that man.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, he finally moved his focus to his hair. It was getting long again, and soon it would be a tangled mess unless he slicked it back like he did before. That wouldn't do for the situation at hand. Perhaps he should pay a barber to take care of that; he'd probably make a noticeable mistake doing it himself and have to shave himself bald as well. That would be overkill, especially if he was headed back to those freezing mountains! Not a whole lot, but trimmed so it no longer even covered all of his neck. Surely that would make him look less rugged.

Content with this plan, he blew out the candle and shuffled to his bunk. A few hours of shut-eye before he was needed on deck for cleaning or hauling or whatever they'd have him do. He was working his way back to Skyhold instead of using the money she'd given him (he hadn't been earning anything during his entire stint with the Inquisition and had no money of his own). With what he saved from earning his keep on these voyages, and any other odd jobs he could find, he'd be able to return with an engagement ring worthy of her when his mission was complete.

After growling something about how strange it was to feel the cloth of the pillow on his face, he pulled the blanket up and hung onto the thought of that day. Beard or no beard, Malika had made him a decent man, probably even a good man. There was no changing that. The last thoughts he had before drifting off to sleep were of her, the woman he loved.


	3. Chapter 2: Back to the Stables

**Disclaimer:** Characters and setting owned by EA and Bioware

 **Author's Note:** I knew Rainier was going to need an insider to help with secretive stuff, and being that he'd need access to the stables where he kept his stuff, it made sense to give that role to Dennet. At least in my universe, after he was revealed, Rainier was put on stable duty with Dennet as his boss. I wanted a chance to show more of that dynamic and the way it has changed over time.

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For the first time in ages, he felt like a boy up to innocent mischief. In fact, he could hardly contain the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he traveled up the mountain in the midst of the throng completely unnoticed. The real nobles of course had mounts so they wouldn't have to walk on their dainty feet, but he had no such advantage. As a result, his attire had to be practical besides being formal. Though it hurt him to spend the money at the time, he had to purchase something special for the occasion upon landing in Highever, seeing as he hadn't thought to pack any nice clothes for his self-imposed exile. The coat he settled on was a stormy blue with silver trim that would play off his eyes, matched with a simple pair of black breeches. A sturdy pair of black leather boots rising mid-calf allowed him to handle the steep trek. Looking around, he still seemed underdressed, but it couldn't be helped. He hadn't thought about wardrobe choices like this since his days in Orlais, but he felt an odd sense of anticipation now that he had put the clothes on.

In fact, back when he'd first tried on the outfit, he had felt compelled to stand straight at attention. The look was one thing, the act was quite another. He had practiced slightly when they had their mission in Halamshiral, but he knew he would be right in the center of it this time. In the dressing room, he had practiced moving from one end to the other, confidently, smoothly, with complete poise. He'd stopped and did a bow, considering the proper flourish of the hand and everything. One didn't forget after a mere fifteen years, and something about those clothes brought it all back. In those clothes, he was no rogue warden, no woodsman, no soldier; he was that ladies' man, and he felt the strangest mixture of disgust and satisfaction when he saw himself in the mirror that morning after preparing for the event. The smooth face, pristine outfit, and the now trimmed hair, washed and falling loosely about his ears… But oh the face Malika would make when she realized it was HIM… And the other members of the circle as well!

As he reflected, he unconsciously flexed his hands in reaction to the biting mountain air. Then, suddenly, an unwelcome thought occurred to him. They were rough hands, scarred and calloused. He could change how he looked or how he acted, but those hands would reveal him in an instant for what he was. How could he forget to purchase some gloves besides the ones he wore when suited up for battle? Panicking, he thought furiously for a solution. Perhaps Bonny Sims was still selling wares to the guests and would have some? Or…the stable. He inhaled deeply through his nose. Might it be possible to sneak unnoticed into the loft where he left many of his personal belongings? He'd left a pair of riding gloves there. Perhaps not the fanciest, but certainly better than his hands being exposed… Well, he'd have to see when he arrived. At the moment, worrying would do no good.

An hour later, he arrived at the main gates. As the lay-abouts in the tavern had speculated, it seemed security was at an all-time high despite the death of their arch-enemy. Every guest was inspected for weapons, and bags were searched by the guards. For the nobles, this took quite a bit of time; it seemed they'd brought half their wardrobe with them carried on the backs of their entire retinue. He made it through inspection easily, having left most of his possessions behind at the inn. Almost everything was worthless and would not be targets for theft. The armor might be, but he trusted the innkeeper he'd paid off would be satisfied with that gold rather than try and sell it only to have a very strong, very angry customer accuse him of theft… He carried his coin on his person, some rations for the trip, his flint for the fire, and a dagger to be on the safe side. It didn't take more than ten seconds to determine he was safe to enter (and likely someone's manservant given his humble look).

Even in the Inquisition's heyday in the midst of the war against Corypheus, he'd never seen the courtyard so full of people. It was enough to give anyone an anxiety attack, but his mind was focused on his goal: the stables and his gloves. Excusing himself under his breath, he pushed his way through the crowds and away from the main hall, meeting fewer people the further he went in that direction. Finally, he was home free as the stables came into sight. Even from a distance he could tell the Inquisition's many exotic steeds were nervous from all the activity, stamping in agitation. He felt bad for them before realizing he felt the same way. If he wasn't wearing his nice clothes he'd have stopped to comfort them.

Pushing open the stable doors, he was greeted by the familiar smell. Maker, it felt like forever since he'd been here. Even though he'd started sleeping in Malika's quarters long ago, this still felt like his place in Skyhold, his domain. There was the table where he would carve, the fire where he'd warm himself and watch the dancing of the flames. And up above, the bed he'd slept on for many months before he traded it for Malika's. That was where his feet unconsciously took him, the stairs creaking under his weight. Even now as he looked at the crude bales of hay that made up his "bed", he couldn't help but remember the last time he'd used it and with whom. That night was the beginning of the end for his Blackwall persona, and the beginning of his freedom to be Thom Rainier. Even though it had led to a lot of pain and fear, ultimately that left everything stronger going forward, and he couldn't be anything but grateful for it. For her.

Smiling, he began to rummage through the sacks that had always served as his "dresser". He didn't own a whole lot, so it took very little time to locate the item he was looking for. Pulling the gloves out, he quickly slipped them on, hiding the rough, weathered skin of his hands. They smelled like hay, no doubt from being stored here for so long, but it was better than nothing. He wasn't going to win any awards for best dressed at this gala anyhow.

Satisfied, he resolved to take the plunge and head to the heart of the event. He descended the stairs, only to find himself face to face with a pitchfork-wielding Master Dennet, whose scowl could make a man shirk. "Thought I heard someone poking around in here. The stables are off limits. You have no business here, at least none that is legal," he growled, prodding the other man lightly with the prongs.

Unconsciously, Thom raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Woah, Master Dennet, I'm sorry to come unannounced like this. And looking like this, I should add. I just…"

Master Dennet lowered the pitchfork tentatively, squinting. "That voice…it can't be but…is that you, Thom?"

Rainier shushed him urgently. "Not so loud. People aren't supposed to know I'm here."

Dennet was still floored by the visage he saw before him. "Well, it won't be hard to go unnoticed looking like that. What's all this for anyhow? And what brings you back to Skyhold on a surprise visit?"

He shrugged. "I heard about the event. I wanted to come back and see everyone, but…"

"And by everyone, I'm sure there is a strong emphasis on our dear Inquisitor," Dennet smirked.

Thom gave an exasperated sigh. "Perhaps. Though it is good to see you too. Anyhow, with all these nobles about, it didn't seem wise to reveal my presence. I'm sure you can imagine how they'd hold me in great contempt and turn it against the Inquisition. To them, it's best I've disappeared."

"More than likely," the older man nodded. Then, his smirk returned. "And of course you're looking forward to surprising Mistress Cadash. The poor girl might just have a heart attack!"

"Let's hope not. That would be a disappointing way to end the festivities. The point is, I need you to keep this quiet, just between you and me for now. Word travels fast enough, and it doesn't have to spread that Thom Rainier is in their midst. I might get lynched."

Dennet grunted in agreement. "As you wish. I'll try and remember who you are before I attack next time, though I make no promises these reflexes won't react."

Thom chuckled. "Thank you, sir."

Dennet waved his hand. "You don't have to call me 'sir'; you no longer work under me. You've earned the right to my name by now."

He didn't expect those words from his former supervisor to have such an impact, but he could feel the lump forming in his throat. The road to redemption seemed never-ending, but then simple steps like this made him realize he was gaining ground. Bowing his head, he murmured "Thank you, Dennet. For everything."

The horsemaster waved his hand again. "It's nothing big. Now, you need to go find your Inquisitor. She's probably dying for a distraction, knowing her."

A grin split his face, and no longer was there a beard to hide it. "Can do."


	4. Chapter 4: What an Invisible Man Sees

**Disclaimer:** Characters and setting owned by Bioware and EA

 **Author's Note:** Let's be real, Cole would find him. It occurs to me the title of the chapter can refer to both of them. I also thought it would be poetic if Rainier puts on a mask, both because he used to do it figuratively and because it represented his past. Also, let the conflict commence! Commence the fluffy romantic content!

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As he predicted, no one recognized him in the crowd, not even people that had worked in the Inquisition since the beginning. To be fair, they weren't exactly looking for him, but to walk beside the girl who worked the kitchens since Haven or the mage lad who ran messages since the Circle was incorporated without even earning a second glance made him feel wildly successful. It also amused him to wonder what secrets he would hear in this "invisible" form from the people who usually played respectful and formal before members of the inner circle, though it quickly occurred to him he might not want to know, that they could very well be about him. Or her. Or them together. Heck, even badmouthing any one of his companions would make it hard not to reveal himself and deck the person to preserve their honor. At any rate, there were so many people crammed in that it all was a wash of sound. He tried to slip through the crowd without uttering a word, lest his own voice be recognized despite his appearance, and after a while was able to find a hole to slip through. He had to get to the main hall. He had to see her.

She would be resplendent upon her throne, the triumphant hero of the Inquisition, arguably the most powerful group in Thedas. She was the destroyer of a corrupted magister playing god. She would be decked out in the finest fabrics and jewels as befit a leader of her power, and he knew her well enough to know she would hate it with every fiber of her body. She was not and never had been a doll to admire on a shelf; she wanted to step in and get things done herself, no matter how inglorious or dirty. In fact, the real Malika would stoop to levels these frilly nobles could never imagine if she had to. That was her life before she became this figurehead, and it would always be a part of her. He actually felt bad for leaving her to the noble buzzards without him at her side to leave snarky comments with for her own sanity. Malika would do her absolute best to behave despite her feelings, but even she had her limits. Hopefully Josephine was keeping everyone in line!

As he pressed into the entryway, eyes scanning trying to find the path forward, a familiar voice seemed to speak quietly into his ear. "You want to surprise her. You want her to see the man you can be, the good, respectable man. You want to watch their jaws fall open in shock when they realize what you can be. You might want to wear this until the time comes."

Only one individual in all of Thedas could read his thoughts like an open book. "Cole, you must have a lot of brains to pick in this crowd," he sighed, turning to face the spirit. He was mildly surprised to see him in a bit nicer attire than his usual patched clothes (Vivienne's doing, no doubt, despite the fact that he was likely going to will himself invisible for the duration of the event anyhow). A large feathered hat still shadowed most of his face. In his pale hands was a simple silver mask that would cover half his face. "Yet you still manage to find me."

"We have been together for so long, I am more attuned to you," Cole replied lightly. "I knew right away when you got here, and I wanted to say hello. It makes me happy to feel that so much of your darkness is gone. But there is still one thing you want to know about yourself, and I wanted to help."

"Yes, that is what you do." Thom wearily rubbed the back of his neck, still surprised to feel skin instead of hair. "Well, I'm glad to see you too Cole, but despite what you think, I don't see how wearing a MASK is going to make things better," he frowned. "All I ever did was wear masks. Seems like a step backwards."

"I understand. But this isn't the same kind of mask. This one can be removed before the world so easily when the time comes. It doesn't become a part of your face, or you. And it will make your surprise even more surprising."

He had to admit, the last part was what tempted him. The Inquisition's Blackwall would never put one of those on, and if he wasn't already hard to see, this would practically make him invisible. Grudgingly, he reached out and took it as if it were a deplorable piece of trash. He cursed the carved piece of wood in his mind, as the physical representation of all the years wasted and spent in sin. Of Orlais. Of the Game. Of Captain Thom Rainier. But that was part of him, and didn't she always tell him she loved him despite all those flaws in his past? Was taking it up a sign of no longer running from it, and was that the question Cole had referenced when mentioning wanting to help? Hard to say, but if it satisfied Cole so he would leave him in peace…

"Very well," he grumbled, sighing and pressing the smooth, cool piece against his face. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it FELT that way. He tied the black silk ribbons securely behind his head. "Better?"

"If I couldn't read your mind, I'd never know it was you!" Cole enthused. "Now you want to find her."

"Hmph, that doesn't take mind-reading. Yes. And you can go find some people to help. Maker knows there are enough individuals like that hanging out here," Rainier muttered, turning to go.

"Yep! I think I'll be very busy today. But if you need something I'll come back and help you. You get priority." Cole said those words with the utmost sincerity, as pure spirits like his were want to do.

That Cole. Thom had always hated how the spirit boy dug through his most private thoughts and brought out the most painful memories, whether of his dead sister, that day with the carriage, or his charade in general. He hadn't trusted him before because of it, but he had to admit that Cole never told his secrets despite knowing them all, and he had often tried to comfort him in his own strange ways. "Thank you for being there, Cole. I know I've been rough on you, but you're a good kid…spirit…being." He drew a deep breath. "I feel so unsettled being like this again. Well, you probably already knew that. But you haven't forgotten our promise, have you? If I ever go back to being that monster…"

"I will kill you." Cole did not miss a beat in his response. "And if my helping starts turning to hurting, you will kill me. But that won't happen, I'm sure of it."

Thom chuckled. "At least one of us is. Now run along and meet your helping quota for the day!"

"And you go find her! She wants them to go away but doesn't know the words to use. Her heart is set but they pursue it anyhow."

He stared. "Come again?"

"You'll see…" Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, Cole disappeared, leaving the man to wonder with furrowed brow his cryptic words.

With renewed vigor, he pushed his way through the swirling dresses and painted masks. The throne. She'd be on her throne… Damn, but there were so many people in the way! After several minutes of finagling, he finally was able to catch a glimpse of the raised dais where the Inquisition's most important leaders were seated and receiving their guests. Naturally his eyes found her first, the very stunning image he had conjured up in his imagination. However, it took less than a second to see that her smile was completely fake as she talked with a dwarf bowing low to the ground. He was holding a stunning necklace of gold and gems out to her, and she received it tentatively with a nod, casting annoyed glances at the diplomat on her right when the guest's head was still bowed. Josephine Montilyet just pleaded her to behave with her eyes. Most people in the room wouldn't see it, but he had known them for so long it was like reading a book.

A knot formed in his stomach. Certainly it wasn't what it looked like but… His eyes darted to the receiving line, and it was painfully obvious that everyone in the line was both a dwarf and bearing gifts. They all were also looking at the dwarf in audience with Malika with great annoyance and distaste. He could feel his mouth go dry as the horrible realization hit him: they were trying to make advances on his woman while he was away.

To be fair, they'd never declared anything before others for the sake of reputation, and they'd also never clarified to the outside world that his exit from the Inquisition was not meant to be permanent. But less than two months after the fall of Corypheus and his departure, all these people were vying for her affections like scavengers? Surprisingly, the anger that blossomed in his chest was not simply that he was jealous, though Maker knew that was part of it; he was angry that all those people would attempt to woo her when they didn't even know her. They'd make her miserable, and it didn't take a genius to see it. Why, just look at the gifts they were bringing! Clothes, jewels, fine perfumes and powders…all of it absolutely superficial. They wanted her because it would be an advantageous match, one that would further their power and reputation. Not one bit of it had to do with the incredible woman that she was, and that was the absolute worst part of it. Malika Cadash had been used for most of her life. She would NOT go back to being used just because the rifts were sealed. He would not allow it. But how could he keep this from happening without coming forward with his identity?

He abruptly retreated. There was something in the stables he had been saving, and now was as good of a time as any to play this ace.


End file.
